GLEESON: “Take a seat wherever you like.”
Calix sits in the chair nearest the door. His body is too long for it, knees bent at a sharp angle and elbows tucked in close. He opens his book on his thigh and begins reading again.
Gleeson takes the seat opposite.
GLEESON: “Schopenhauer.The World as Will and Representation?”
Calix tilts the book to show him the spine.
GLEESON: “Interesting philosophy. The world, and humans as part of it, are mere manifestations of a metaphysical Will. Depressing, I always thought. Since we don’t understand others are composed of the same Will, we are doomed to perpetual violence and suffering.”
CALIX (without looking up): “That’s about the whole of it.”
GLEESON: “Tell me about yourself, Calix.”
CALIX: “You know everything there is to know.”
GLEESON: “Tell me something I couldn’t read in the papers.”
Calix eyes him without lifting his head. Frowns. The desk drawer opens and a bottle of scotch emerges by telekinesis, accompanied by a snifter. The bottle uncaps itself, fills the glass.
CALIX: “I think I’ll just read, if you don’t mind. Analyze that however you like. Or you’re welcome to just sit there and think whatever baseline humans think about when left idle.”
GLEESON: “That’s not very nice.”
CALIX: “Did Wolf tell you I was nice?”
Calix licks his thumb, turns the page. The scotch arrives and rests on his knee.
Silence. Then Gleeson reaches for a pen and begins writing.
Calix looks up, handsome mouth in a dissatisfied moue.
CALIX: “What are you doing?”
GLEESON: “Taking notes. Tell me more about your relationship with Adalwolf.”
CALIX (confused): “Why are you—”
Gleeson looks up, then smiles. He puts down his pen.
GLEESON: “Your power doesn’t seem to work on me, does it?”
CALIX: “I beg your pardon?”
GLEESON: “Your power. It isn’t working.”
Calix stares. He’s forgotten his book entirely, the pages falling shut and losing his place.
GLEESON: “Of course, I’m not an expert or anything, but I’m guessing it has something to do with my telepathy.”
CALIX:“What?”(His expression shifts, a calm sea roused to anger.) “You can’t—you—get out of my head!”
Gleeson is still smiling.
Calix pushes himself up so violently the glass topples off his knee, spilling expensive liquor on Gleeson’s carpet.
CALIX: “I’m leaving. Tell Adalwolf whatever you want, but I’m not sitting through this. No.”
